[I would like to extend an apology in advance as this chapter does not feature Olaf as I originally intended it would. I am
so sorry! Please don't hate me!
I just didn't plan this chapter as well as I thought I had. Plus, I've been exceptionally depressed this whole week, and a lot of my feelings found their way into this chapter. Anyway, I hope you guys like it and once again I apologize for the absence of the Olaf.]
Chapter 7
With her arms loaded down with groceries from the In Grocery Store, Esmé returned to the penthouse apartment early that evening in a good mood.
Jerome was always seated in the armchair facing the door reading the stock report with his feet propped up on the ottoman; Emma was usually in her typical spot beside him on the floor in front of the coffee table, doing her homework.
Which was why Esmé was rather surprised when she opened the front door and discovered that neither her husband nor her daughter were there to greet her.
Furrowing her brow in confusion, Esmé shut the door with her foot and then made her way down the hallway to the nearest kitchen where she began to put away the groceries. Since it was nearly time to begin dinner, she set aside what she would need (including a package of veal, a box of breadcrumbs, a container of Romano cheese, some garlic and a box of cornmeal) on the countertop. She was just about to go in search of her husband and daughter when she turned to see Jerome standing in the entranceway of the kitchen.
“Hello, darling,” he said. “How was your day?”
“Fine,” Esmé replied as she approached him. “I spent the entire afternoon giving financial advice to a pair of young newlyweds.” Reaching up, she cupped Jerome’s face in her hands and kissed him on the mouth. “You and Emma weren’t waiting for me by the front door like you usually are. I was just about to come looking for you.”
“Esmé, I’m afraid we have a bit of a… a
problem with Emma.”
“A problem? Whatever are you talking about, Jerome?”
Slipping his arm around her waist, Jerome led Esmé over to the small table on the other side of the kitchen. As soon as they were sitting down, he broke the news to her.
“I received a rather distressing call from Nero this morning,” Jerome explained. “It seems that Emma has finally given the Foxworth boy his just desserts.”
Esmé’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “In what kind of way?” she asked.
“By slamming his head against the window of the school bus to the point where he began bleeding. Nero suspended her for it and…”
Esmé lifted her hands and covered her mouth. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “Emma’s always been so well behaved. She’s never done anything even
remotely violent before. I don’t know what…” Tears filled her eyes as she came to realize what
had happened, and the very thought that her sweet, innocent child was turning into the kind of person her father had been was just too much. Burying her face in her hands, Esmé began to sob quietly.
Feeling every bit as distraught as his wife over what had occurred, Jerome wrapped his arms around her. He could only imagine what she must be feeling, and he wished there was some way he could make it better. He hated seeing her so upset, and this was the most upset she had been in years.
“This is all my fault,” Esmé wept. “If it wasn’t for my blind judgment, then—”
“Then we wouldn’t have Emma,” Jerome said, unsure if that was the right thing to say or not. “Or Carmelita, or the twins, or…” He stopped as he felt Esmé begin to tremble in his embrace. As usual, in his attempt to console her, he had gone and reminded her of her past, making her even more upset. But still she clung to him, pressing her quivering body as close to him as possible. Was she having an anxiety attack? Dear God, he hoped not. She hadn’t had one of those in nearly five years, and at the rate things were spiraling downwards, he really didn’t think he could handle something like that right now. “Darling, are you alright?”
“I’m going to my room now,” Esmé said as Jerome felt her arms loosen from around him. He let go of her in response, keeping a close eye on her face as she rose. Her long, dark hair hung in her eyes, and tears were pouring down her cheeks. The very sight of his beloved wife in such distress was an absolutely devastating thing to behold. “Give Emma dinner, will you?”
“What about you?” Jerome asked.
Esmé turned away and began heading out of the kitchen. “I’m not hungry.”
Jerome followed her. “Sweetheart, don’t you think we should discuss this?” He knew he was pushing it, but the thought that his wife might do something drastic was quickly creeping up around the corner of his mind and he was desperate for an excuse to keep her in the same room with him.
“I’ve had a long day, Jerome,” Esmé said. “I’m tired. Please, can’t we talk about it tomorrow?”
“O… okay,” replied Jerome.
“Thank you, darling. Goodnight.”
Jerome watched Esmé disappear down the hallway and around a corner. He waited less than a minute before running after her, racking his brain to try and remember if he had left his razor lying out in plain sight in their bathroom or if he had hidden it in his sock drawer like he did every morning.
***
Esmé was curled up in a tight ball underneath her bed, her long arms wrapped around her small knees as she shivered uncontrollably. Hot tears were pouring down her cheeks, causing her hair to stick to her face in the midst of her full-blown anxiety attack.
She was hardly aware of the door as it creaked open, followed by Jerome’s soft, soothing voice: “Esmé? Where are you?”
There was a lot of dust underneath the bed, and as soon as Esmé had taken a sharp, inhaling breath and squeaked twice into her knees, Jerome had dropped to his beside her.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing underneath the bed?” he asked. “It’s dusty. It’ll make you—”
As if to answer his question, she squeaked twice more. The next thing she knew, her husband had his arms around her and was yanking her out.
Jerome tugged Esmé into his lap, brushing a few dust particles out of her hair. It wasn’t until he kissed her on the nose that he realized how icy her skin was, and he frowned. “Esmé, what— your skin is like ice!” he proclaimed.
As her small body began to shudder, Jerome scooped her up and carried her into the bathroom. He could tell from the progressing signs that his wife was clearly experiencing an anxiety attack of the worst kind, and he kissed her lovingly on the forehead. After setting her down on the (closed) toilet seat, he turned on the showerhead and began to help her undress.
“I’m so sorry, Esmé,” he said as he slid off her panties, trying his best to avoid looking at her beautiful, naked body but failing. “I never meant to…” Blushing furiously, he put his arm around her and guided her into the shower, hoping it would be enough to sooth her nerves. He could hear her weeping softly as he closed the curtain behind her.
“Jerome,” returned her soft, tearful voice.
“Yes, dear?”
“Will you come in and just… hold me?”
“Of course I will, darling,” said Jerome as he began to strip down. “I’ll do whatever you want. I am your willing slave, after all.”
He tossed his clothes into a pile with Esmé’s between the sink and the toilet, and climbed into the shower alongside her. As the hot water poured down on them both, he wrapped his arms around her, loving the feeling of her soft, damp body pressing firmly against his. She was still trembling slightly, and he pressed his lips against her soaked head, choosing for a moment to just rest them there. He could feel her finger tracing what he supposed must be a heart around his belly button, and he ran the palms of his hands down around the curves of her buttocks. Lifting one hand, he placed his finger underneath her chin, tilted back her head, and kissed her on her soft, wet lips.
As Jerome gazed down into Esmé’s eyes, it wasn’t difficult to tell that she was still crying in spite of the water running through her hair and down her cheeks. Her bottom lip was quivering, and she sniffled quietly.
He watched in silence as she reached for his hand and slowly guided towards her stomach where she pressed his hand firmly against it. The feeling of his hand, on that part of her beautiful body, caused him to experience a moment of lightheadedness. It was so soft and so sweet that it made him feel as though he was floating through the air, through heaven. He smiled shyly and, taking her hand, he placed it on his stomach.
To Jerome’s surprise, Esmé got down on her knees beside him and reached up, lacing her long, slender arms around his belly. She kissed it a number of times, leaving no trace of skin untouched. Jerome laughed, unable to fathom how a woman could be this obsessed with something as unusual as a man’s soft, round belly.
“Get up, Esmé,” Jerome said finally.
“I’d like some attention, too, you know.”
Without a word, Esmé stood up and threw her arms around him. She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.
As Jerome embraced his wife, he was relieved to see that her shivering had ceased at last. He’d hated to upset her the way he had, but there really wasn’t anything that could be done about it. He was just thankful that it was all over and that everyone was safe and sound.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.
Esmé nodded from where her head was still resting on his shoulder. With the water beginning to run cold, Jerome reached over and switched off the tap. Pulling back the curtain, he stepped out and retrieved their matching His and Her terrycloth robes with their initials on the backs that were hanging on the door.
They changed into their robes and returned to the bedroom. As Esmé seated herself at her vanity, Jerome picked up her hairbrush and began to comb her hair for her.
“What are we going to do about Emma?” Esmé asked after some time had passed.
These were the first words she had spoken in almost half an hour, and Jerome looked up. “Well, I suppose first thing’s first,” he said. “We’ll have to find her a tutor and—”
“I’m not referring to her education, Jerome. I’m referring to her behavior.”
Jerome set the hairbrush down on the edge of the vanity and kissed his wife on the top of her damp head. He really wasn’t too sure of the answer to that question himself. “She and I discussed it earlier,” he explained. “I made it very clear that we aren’t going to tolerate anymore outbursts like the one involving the Foxworth boy. His father is a highly distinguished judge who is sure to—”
Esmé’s shoulders were starting to tremble, and Jerome realized that he had once more put his foot in the hole. Sighing, he began to massage her shoulders gently for her. He knew that Emma’s intention hadn’t been to upset her mother, but she had, and now everyone was paying the price— especially Esmé.
“It’s going to be alright, Esmé,” Jerome said as he wrapped his arms around her and knelt down, kissing a bare patch of porcelain skin that was peeking through her robe near her shoulder. “I promise.”
A tear trickled down Esmé’s cheek while she sat there, staring into the mirror at their reflections. “I wish I could believe you,” she whispered. “But I can’t help thinking that this is simply the calm before the storm. Somehow I feel that things are only going to get worse from hereon.”
Jerome tightened his embrace on her, nuzzling her cheek right before kissing it. “Don’t say that, darling. Things like that only increase your negative feelings, forcing you to have all sorts of unpleasant thoughts.” He was no therapist, but even
he knew that if his wife continued to concentrate on the negative possibilities, then her condition would only worsen.
“Jerome, I don’t feel very well,” Esmé said. She knew this feeling well. When her stomach began to tense and her mind started to race, she was left with the assumption that she was trapped, much like that unforgettable morning at the Hotel Denouement. On the contrary, she was
not trapped in a burning hotel, but in her own mind, and all she wanted was to run away.
As Esmé was struck by the idea that she was responsible for what had happened to Davey Foxworth, her entire body began to tremble even more violently, and a horrible feeling of hot and cold surged through her. Her heart was racing.
“Esmé, relax,” Jerome said, but he knew it was of no use. Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her over to the bed and deposited her onto it. Pulling back the blankets, he slid in beside her and pulled the blankets up around them. As he held her quivering body in his arms, he whispered to her: “It’s okay, darling. It’s alright, I’m here. I’m right here.”
Even though Esmé could feel her husband right there beside her as his arms held her in a warm, loving, protective embrace, that faraway feeling still remained. There were things about her past that she could never reveal to Jerome, things that she feared would cause him to hate her. This very thought caused even more tears to fall from her blue eyes, and she dug her long, sharp nails into the material of his robe. She had come to love him so much in the last thirteen years that she could hardly remember that there had actually been a time in which she’d felt differently.
The fear inside her at that moment was unreal. The last time she had been this frightened was right after she’d torn a blindfold from her eyes and found herself and Carmelita surrounded by flames. Esmé wished she could escape her fear like she had escaped that fire, but as long as Olaf’s blood flowed through the veins of her daughter, then such a thing was doomed to remain a false hope.
A tiny sob escaped Esmé suddenly, and she could feel Jerome’s fingers moving through her hair. She nuzzled into his shoulder, absolutely desperate for comfort, her thin arms wrapping themselves around his waist while her long leg draped over his.
“Promise you won’t ever leave me,” Esmé wept, ignoring that familiar feeling of dread, the one that started with ‘if he only knew the whole truth’. “Promise you’ll always stay with me, and that you’ll never, ever leave me.” She couldn’t stand the thought of spending the rest of her life alone, without someone to love and care for her, for someone she could do the same for in return.
“Oh, sweetheart, of course I won’t,” Jerome said, knowing that if she was really this upset then there was only one thing left to do. “You’re the only one in the world for me, you know that.”
Esmé wasn’t sure
what she knew anymore, and as she clung tighter to him and her sobs increased, Jerome looked around helplessly.
“Esmé, you stay here. I’m just going to get you something from the bathroom that’ll help you relax.” He untangled her limbs from around him and then hurried back into the bathroom. He searched through the cabinet above the sink until he came across her bottle of prescription tranquilizers. Taking the cup she used to rinse her mouth out after brushing her teeth, he filled it with water. Then he gathered up everything and returned to the bedroom where he found her sobbing in her pillow.
“Darling,” Jerome said as he set the cup of water down on the nightstand and unscrewed the lid from the bottle of tranquilizers. “Sit up and take your medicine.”
Brushing the tears from her eyes, Esmé sat up. She waited patiently while Jerome dropped a tranquilizer into his open palm and handed it to her, along with the cup of water. Tilting back her head, she dropped the tranquilizer onto her tongue and then swallowed a few gulps of water.
With tears pouring down her cheeks and her lower lip quivering she held out her arms to her husband, beckoning him forth with her fingers.
Jerome didn’t have to think twice, and he crawled into bed beside his wife. Within seconds they had their arms wrapped around each other once more, and he listened to the sound of her soft weeping as it gradually subsided into gentle breathing. When at last he was sure that she had fallen asleep, he loosened one arm from around her and lowered his hand to her waist. He was just about to untie her robe so that he could caress her small, soft belly when a knock at the door interrupted him.
Jerome glanced over his shoulder to see Emma standing in the open doorway, her blue eyes wide with fear and worry. He had been so preoccupied by his concern for Esmé earlier that he had forgotten to close the door.
“What’s wrong with Mother?”Emma asked. These were the first words she had spoken to Jerome in two days without resentment. “Is she alright?”
Not wanting to worry his stepdaughter now that the situation was under control, he nodded. “She’s fine,” he said. “She’s just exhausted from a busy day of counting money and giving financial advice.”
Of course, Emma was old enough to know this was not what had happened at all, as she had heard her mother’s sobs coming from two doors down. Biting her lip, Emma took a step forward. “It’s not because of what I did… is it?”
Jerome thought quickly on how to respond to this. “Has the mail come yet?” he asked.
“Not sure,” replied Emma.
“Well, why don’t you go check?”
Lowering her eyes to the floor, Emma turned quickly and hurried down the hallway.
***
By the time she came to the front door, Emma’s eyes were so blurred by tears that she could hardly see the pile of mail in front of her. She had never meant to cause her mother so much distress that she would end up having to consult her bottle of prescription drugs, which Emma had noticed sitting on the nightstand in her parents’ bedroom.
Wiping the tears from her eyes with her sleeve, Emma knelt down and picked up the mail. It was mostly just the usual: the new issue of
In and Out Magazine for Esmé; circulars from both the In Boutique and the Not So Supermarket; a coupon for fifty percent off for either breakfast, lunch, or dinner at the Veritable French Diner; bank statements addressed to both her parents; and an envelope addressed to Emma.
There was no return address, and for a moment she sat there, trying to figure out just
who would have sent her something, as well as the reason. Suddenly, she remembered what Olaf had told her about keeping her eye on the mail. Quickly, she flipped the envelope over and tore it open.
Inside, she discovered a piece of parchment. She unfolded it to discover that it was actually a handwritten letter, and although the writing was a little shaky, she was able to read it without much trouble.
Dear Emma:
I enjoyed meeting you this past Saturday at Veblen Hall, and would very much like to make your acquaintance again. I was thinking we could get together Friday afternoon around 4:00 at my apartment. You can come by right after school. I live in the apartment building at 686 Dark Avenue in apartment B-2 on the second floor.
Since I know how important it is to be “in” at all times, I’ll be sure to purchase some raspberry scones and parsley soda for when you come visit.
Sincerely,
Count Olaf
P.S.: Due to my past with your mother, it would probably be a wise decision not to mention the contents of this letter or my acquaintance with you. In fact, my advice to you would be to destroy this letter as soon as you’ve finished reading it.Forgetting all about the rest of the mail, Emma got up and hurried to the nearest bathroom. Once inside, she tore up the letter and envelope into tiny pieces, dropping them into the toilet. As she pushed the lever on the side and watched all signs of the evidence disappear, she smiled to herself.